Cloned For Him Read online

  “Okay. So back onto what we mentioned before, who are their guardians?”

  “Usually the people who requested their creation. If you decided to go through with this process, you'd become the clone's guardian and bring her whatever she needed. We provide essentials. You provide the interests.”

  He pulled the screen back and faced me, his expression guarded, “So. Are you interested?” he asked.

  I hesitated, watching him carefully. I chewed my lip in thought, “About how long does it take?” I asked.

  “With our process of accelerating the growth period, we can create and age your clone to the appropriate time in just over a month or so, depending on the age.”

  “That's pretty fast. And no lasting physical effects?” I asked, somewhat dubious.

  “None we've seen so far. Even after her creation and release, your wife's clone would be required to return for many checkups for a period of two to three years to make certain that she's progressing normally and aging normally. Each clone contains a special chip that records day to day existence and stores the data for us.”

  “What? You mean like a tracking chip for dogs?” I exclaimed.

  “No, hardly. This chip can't be tracked or monitored. Its sole purpose is to scan her brain activity and keep track of her nutritional intake, her health, her mental stability, etc. When she comes in for exams, we simply run a special sensor over the chip embedded in her neck and print out the data for study. That's all.” Bryant explained, smiling.

  “And...well, is the possibility there to maybe...you know, possibly consider...kids, sometime down the road?” I asked quietly, feeling a little awkward. Bryant chuckled and leaned back, “Trust me, you're not the first to ask that and I've had people ask weirder questions about what the clones are capable of. This is why there's a screening process. It's to make sure people aren't requesting clones for sordid reasons. I had one guy trying to create a clone of this girl he was obsessed with, and I mean obsessed. Like, breaking into her bedroom and stealing hair from her hairbrush, obsessed.”

  “Scary.” I muttered, “No, trust me. My reasons are pretty simple. I just want my best friend back in my life.”

  “So is that a yes to the program, Steven?”

  “...Yes. I want to do it.” I answered confidently. Bryant grinned, “Awesome! I like you dude, so we'll put extra effort into her. Now I'll just need to type some information on her into our database so we can get started.”

  “Don't I need to give you some DNA or something?”

  “Nah, don't you worry about it. We've got another branch of the facility that handles that part for you. It's nothing scary. A few of our specific board members who specialize in this field simply go through various channels to legally acquire samples from hospitals the donor may have visited in their life. Trust me, they're not going to dig up her grave or something.” Bryant said, smiling, “Now then, can you tell me her birthdate and age of death?”

  “Uh, she was born December 28th, 1991, and she was twenty-seven when she died.” I whispered. I shook myself out of the impending funk. I was taking steps to rectify this gloomy situation and I had to stay focused.

  “Okay, and her height and weight?”

  “She was 5'5”, and weighed about 130 lbs or so.”

  “Or so'?”

  “You really think she was going to tell me how much she weighed?”

  Bryant bellowed in laughter, “Touché, Steven. Okay, now please describe her appearance for me. As much detail as you can.”

  I sighed, drawing her face into my memory for the first time since I last laid eyes on her. “She was fair-skinned, with freckles on her cheeks and shoulders. Her eyes were bluish-gray, and her nose was slightly upturned. She had a teeny frame, with a small-ish bottom and about a C-size bust. Her feet were a bit on the large side and she wore a size 9 ½. Her arms were skinny. Her teeth were small, too. Her hair was long and almost black. It reached clear down her back, and it was thick and wavy in the middle and the tips curled.”

  “Man, dude,” Bryant said, whistling, “She sounds like a real natural beauty. You were a lucky man. I hope I can remember every inch of my wife someday like you do yours.”

  “That shouldn't be hard, considering I'm with you every second of the day.” Helen chirped from her position in the other chair by the door, reading a magazine. She looked up and winked at Bryant, who cleared his throat sheepishly and grinned.

  “Anyway,” he said, reaching around to the filing cabinet behind him and pulling out a short stack of papers, “This here is the contract for the cloning process. I'll need you to read through it and sign on the bottom of each page.”

  I was pretty sure I had a general idea of what the contract stated, so I just sort of skimmed through it, signing my name on the line as requested while Bryant typed more information into the computer. We both finished around the same time and he took the stack from me, checking for my signatures. He nodded and set the stack aside, “Okay then, Mr. Weaver. It's all set. We have your contact information, so we're going to go ahead and get started on your clone. Oh, one last thing. Can you give us her full maiden name?”

  Slightly confused, but fully confident, I nodded, “Yeah. It's Marcella Antoinette Larken.”

  “Damn, even her name was gorgeous.” Bryant joked, “Okay. We'll get started. We'll give you a buzz in about a month or so when she's ready, so you just go on home and leave everything to us.”

  I stood up, taking his hand as he extended it to shake mine.

  “Thank you very much, doctor.” I said.

  “Of course. And while we can't permit you to see her before she's ready, feel free to stop in and check on her progress.”

  Chapter Five: Steven

  Sitting on my bed at home, I reveled in the smell of pine sol and laundry detergent. Doozle lay curled up in his freshly laundered bed in the corner of the room. I crossed my legs, eying my phone as I stared at Mr. Davidson's number. I pressed it, waiting patiently.

  “Hello, this is Davidson speaking.”

  “Good evening, sir.” I said.

  “Steven! It's great to finally hear from you, son. I was getting a little worried, there. How was your trip?”

  “It was very restful. I wound up spending a few days at the lodge.”

  “Yes, one of the staff told me he'd seen you moping about the place up there. I was half tempted to go up and advise you to go somewhere else. I was afraid it would remind you too much.”

  “No, it was fine. Actually, it helped a lot more than I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “I saw this flyer on the corkboard in the foyer, Mr. Davidson. It was talking about a facility specializing in human cloning.”

  “...Human cloning, son?”

  “Well, yes. And I've decided to go for it, sir.”

  “Go for it? You mean you're going to clone Marcie?” he exclaimed. Though he sounded more perplexed than horrified.

  “Yes, sir. I've already spoken to the specialists there and they've started the process. I should see the results in about a month or so.”

  “Well, I have to say I'm surprised, son. I honestly didn't expect you to be up for trying such a thing. I've heard of these programs myself. But I know how much she meant to you and I truly wish you the best of luck in this endeavor. Will you just do me one favor?”

  “What's that?”

  “Promise to keep me in the loop, Steven. Remember, I'm a leader, not a boss. I'm here for you and all my employees when you need help. We're a family at this company, Steven. Don't you forget that.”

  “I won't sir. Thank you.” I said softly. And I meant it. Mr. Davidson had been true to his word for a while now.

  “When she's back home with you, let me know and we'll have a big welcoming party for her. I'll even break out a few bottles of Krug for the occasion.” Mr. Davidson chortled.

  I laughed, “It's a deal, sir. I will.”

  “Good talking with you, Steven. I look forward to the results and to
seeing you back at work. And it can't happen soon enough.”

  “Why's that?”

  “That temp I hired is driving me crazy.” he grumbled. The phone went dead and I couldn't help but laugh.

  ***

  Waiting is the worst. The absolute worst. Like a kid desperately wishing the days would go by faster until Christmas morning, I kept my phone on me at all times for the next month, counting the days down on a calendar on the kitchen wall. I did my best to keep up with the housework. I fed Doozle properly and even got him to play with a few chew toys here and there. I busied myself as much as possible trying to distract myself. But all the distraction in the world didn't do a lick of good when, early one Saturday morning, my phone buzzed suddenly beneath my pillow. I yelled and flailed off the bed, landing hard on my side and cracking my head against the bedside table. Groaning, I answered it painfully, “Hello?” I grumbled.

  “Is this Steven Weaver?”

  “Oh! Helen!” I exclaimed, sitting up and fumbling for my glasses, since I'd run out of contacts, “Hey, good morning. Is something wrong? Is there a problem?”

  “No, absolutely not. I wanted to ask if you're free to come down this afternoon to meet her.”

  Those words rang in my head like a bell; to come and meet her. It sounded like something out of a dream. I felt goosebumps rising on my arms, my hands growing clammy. I switched my phone to the other ear, “Y-Yeah, I'd love to. What time?”

  “Is two o' clock okay for you?”

  “Yeah! That's perfect! Can I bring anything with me?”

  “Sure. Why don't you bring a few books or something. That's one of the first things she's asked for.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat. Marcie had always loved reading. I smiled in spite of myself and stood up, already fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, “Sure! Anything else?”

  “Don't overload her, Steven. We need to get her situated into a room. She's asked for big heavy blankets, the heaviest you can find, sheets, and pillows.”

  “Do they have to be new?” I asked, ripping my pants off and hurling them across the room as I put Helen on speaker.

  “No, just make sure they're in good condition. If you're thinking of bringing her some of her donor's belongings, she might be genetically predisposed to “remember” them, in a way, if that makes sense.”

  “Sure, they might seem familiar to her, like a deja vu.” I said.

  “Exactly. Oh, that's another thing Dr. Lewinsky failed to mention; the clones have a tendency to experience a LOT of deja vu, so be prepared to deal with that. He thinks it has something to do with their genetic makeup being recreated. We're still studying the effects of genetic memory and just how prevalent it is in their conscious. Some experts in our field are even starting to believe that the subconscious mind is actually more deeply connected on the genetic level than we ever thought possible.”

  “Are you sure I can't come earlier?” I asked.

  “Sorry, Steven. She's only just been approved for commune living within the last two hours or so. Let us get her into a room first.”

  “Okay. I'll see you soon, then.” I said.

  I hung up the phone and the next two hours were spent rushing around the house, packing as much as I could into my little car, including the big, thick comforter and sheets from our bed, as well as the pillows and pillowcases. I also packed up a small box with some of her favorite books and a few of her old comics from when she was younger. I loaded everything into the car and spent the next four hours restlessly pacing around the house, cleaning like a madman and watching the clock. When 1:30 hit, I couldn't take it anymore. I bolted to the car and made a beeline for the facility, barely stopping for traffic lights and stop signs. I rushed inside and found the secretary at the front desk speaking with Helen, who looked up with a wry grin on her face. Her hand went to her hip and she shook her head, “I knew it would be a wise idea to wait out here for a while, Mr. Weaver.” she said, smiling.

  “Sorry,” I said sheepishly, “I guess I was a little excited.”

  “Too excited to put your shirt on front-ways?” she asked, inclining her head. I looked down and saw my shirt was indeed on backwards. I quickly pulled my arms through the sleeves and turned my shirt around, readjusting it and facing her promptly, “Do I look presentable?”

  “You look like you just ran a marathon, but she isn't going to care very much. Come on, Mr. Weaver. I'll take you to the commune.”

  She led me through another door on the other side of the room and down a narrow hallway that I saw took me past the courtyard I'd seen the month before. This time, the outside areas were filled with people walking the trails, sitting and talking on the benches, or laying on the grass and staring up at the sky.

  About half of the people wore solid white clothing. I instinctively knew that those people were the resident clones.

  “Has she been outside, yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet. The privilege of the first outing is reserved for the guardians. But it's her choice whether or not she wants to go today. We just got her set up in a room facing the mountains. She seemed happiest when she saw that view.”

  I smiled in relief, “Not too surprising. She always loved the mountains.”

  “I need to warn you about a few things, though.” Helen said, glancing at me as we walked, “First, you need to remember that although she is an exact clone of your late wife, she's still technically a separate person. Until you've gotten to know her better and have learned her preferences and personality structure, you need to be careful just how much you treat her like Marcella Weaver.”

  “Wait, 'get to know her'?” I asked in amazement. Helen paused, eying me firmly, but gently. She sighed, “You'll have to forgive my husband Steven. He's so caught up in helping people reunite with their loved ones that the dirty work of explaining the side effects falls on me. You see, Marcella Antoinette Larken, whom you are about to see, has absolutely no memories of her donor's life. No conscious ones, anyway.”

  “What?” I breathed, my eyes widening.

  “It's to be expected. We've recreated her. We haven't resurrected her. She won't recognize you when you see her. She's very friendly and personable, and as we've discovered, extremely chatty. So she'll have no problems interacting with you, I'm sure. But she won't know who you are or who you were to her donor. This is why she's registered under her maiden name of Larken instead of Weaver.”

  “But...but she's my....” I trailed off as it started to dawn on me that Helen was speaking the only obvious truth. Helen sighed, nodding, “She's a clone of the woman who used to be your wife. Marcella is going to meet you again in a few minutes. But she's not your wife. She's someone that you need to make into a friend before you make her into a spouse. In essence, the two of you are starting completely from scratch.”

  “She knows she's a clone, though, right?”

  “Of course. We've taught her her name, taught her to recognize herself and, among other things, we've taught her who you are and that she was created at your behest. She knows only that she was created because someone lost someone that he loved very, very much. She's expecting you and she's looking forward to meeting you, but you need to restrain yourself around her.”

  “How so?”

  “Just like with any new meeting, you respectfully keep your distance. Part of your particular job as her particular guardian is to make her fall in love with you all over again over a period of time. You need to rebuild the bond you once had. Pushing her straight into marriage and intimacy as a result would be far too overwhelming for her. Our priority is to make the transition from lab to life as smooth as possible for the clones. Doing it this way allows Marcella to have some amount of control over the situation, which will make her feel far more at ease, both with her situation and with you. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, my mouth dry. I felt my knees shaking. Helen reached out and squeezed my shoulder, “It's all right, Steven. You know her and you know you love her. Now all you need to do
is prove this to her. It's simple.”

  “Yeah...yeah, it is.”

  She led me further down the hall until we reached a door on the left side. I could see the mountain range through the window at the end of the hallway. Helen knocked on the door and my heart about stopped when I heard a voice.

  “Come in!”

  My throat went completely dry and I shakily followed Helen inside. The room was very spacious, albeit very sparse. The front living area had only a small, gray sofa sitting against the wall and a coffee table placed in front of it. I could sort of see a bed frame in the other room off to the left. I peered over Helen's shoulder as Helen spoke, “Hey, sweetie. You have a visitor.” she chimed.

  I could only stare. The figure standing by the window with the blinds pulled all the way up, her long, free-flowing dark hair swishing behind her as she turned, the light from the window framing her face as she eyed us curiously.

  “Hey, Helen.” she said, “Are my blankets here yet?”

  She blinked and inclined slightly, peering around Helen and straight at me, “Who's this?”

  My shaking hands dropped the bag of books I was holding. I felt my throat tighten up as I moved into the room, unable to take my eyes off this beautiful, sublime creature.

  “...Marcie....” I gasped.

  She watched me curiously. I nearly forgot everything Helen had just warned me about as I rushed forward and embraced her, nearly sobbing in my relief and shock.

  “Uh,” Marcella stammered, “N-Nice to meet you too. Can I come up for air? Please?”

  I gasped sharply and yanked back as if she'd burned me. I gathered myself as best I could and sighed, running my hand through my hair and taking my glasses off, “Sorry, sorry. I lost myself for a second there. You just...you look like....”